Dirk swept open the door of the Purejoies’ home and walked in. Another pointless day at school out of the way he was thinking to himself when he noticed Mrs. Purejoie with someone else, someone he didn’t recognize, someone … odd. Clearly, they had been waiting for him.
She looked like that character in that sickeningly sappy movie Mrs. Purejoie forced him and Christopher to watch once. What was it called? Oh yes, Mary Poppins. Except that everything she wore was white.
Her hair was completely white, and hung straight down around her shoulders and face like curtains. She had pale, flawlessly pure alabaster skin, no eyebrows, pale lips almost the same shade as her skin, and light gray eyes.
“Hello, dear, a visitor has come to see you! She’s your new nanny. Her name’s Miss Deary. Dumpsy Deary,” said Mrs. Purejoie, in almost hypnotic tones.
“Bah! Such an absurd name, it must be false!” said Dirk.
“Now, now, dear, be nice, be a good boy. Please don’t start all that business again,” said Mrs. Purejoie, a look of resigned patience on her face.
“Oh come on, Purejoie! It’s obviously not her real name! Look at her! I’ll bet she’s not even from this plane, by the Nine Netherworlds!” said Dirk in exasperation.
At the sound of the phrase “the Nine Netherworlds,” the strange white woman pointed at Dirk weirdly, and her eyes widened with interest. Dirk frowned. What a strange creature she was! She reminded him of someone … but he couldn’t quite think who.
Mrs. Purejoie turned to the nanny and said, “I’m so sorry. He’s a good boy really. Just a little … er … eccentric.”
Miss Deary just inclined her head, and smiled. Her teeth were whiter than her pale, albino skin—so white they gleamed. Behind them, a wet tongue flickered red, but no sound or speech came out.
Dirk sighed and raised his eyes. “Yes, indeed,” he said, “the geniuses on this plane are always labeled as eccentric.”
“Of course they are, dear,” said Mrs. Purejoie, “I’m sure Miss Deary will be able to help you with that.”
“Wait a minute, I’m twelve years old, why do I need a nanny?” said Dirk, suspiciously.
“I can’t remember why, dear. Perhaps it’s something to do with your … eccentric problems. She’s highly trained and comes well recommended,” said Mrs. Purejoie.
“What, don’t tell me, by those idiots Wings and Randle, I suppose?” said Dirk.
“No, no, by … umm, actually, I can’t remember that either, but highly recommended by someone, I’m sure. Just right for boys like you, in fact,” said Mrs. Purejoie vaguely.
Miss Deary just nodded again, saying nothing. She began to stare at Dirk avidly.
Dirk felt like he was being put on the spot, and as a sly, scheming Dark Lord type he really didn’t like that! He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and stared back at the strange white lady. Her stare was … predatory! Definitely predatory. He glanced over at Mrs. Purejoie. She was looking at them both with an idiotic grin on her face. It all seemed fine to her, obviously. But not to Dirk. Something was wrong, very wrong. It was almost as if Mrs. Purejoie had been hit by some kind of spell. He narrowed his eyes. For now, he’d better play along until he could find out what was going on.
“Well, what shall I call you then? Dumpsy? Miss Deary? Or maybe Dumpy?”
Miss Deary just smiled at him. Dirk’s brow furrowed. “Or perhaps Old Whiteface? Frumpsy Sneery then?” Dirk added.
But neither Mrs. Purejoie nor the nanny said a word. How unutterably strange, thought Dirk to himself. The whole thing just wasn’t right.
He hurried away to his room and shut the door, glad to have some time to himself. He sat at his little desk by the window, and opened it. With a loud caw, Dave the Black Storm Crow flew in to rest on the perch Dirk had made by the window, a piece of wood fixed to a bracket on the wall. He’d carved skulls and other necromantic symbols into the wood and then painted it black.
“So, Dave, my pet, what do you make of this Dumpsy Deary character?” said Dirk, his chin in his hands.
The crow gave a croak of disdainful contempt.
“Yeah, you’re right there, my little Black Pet of Doom! It’s as obvious as an Orc at a tea party, isn’t it! She’s no nanny!” said Dirk, half to himself, half to the crow.
Just then there was a knock on the door. Could it be her already?
“Who dares enter the dark domain of the Great Dirk?” he said imperiously.
“It’s just me, Christopher,” said Christopher as he walked in. “I wanted to ask how things were going with my phone.”
“Ah, the DarkPhone,” said Dirk. “Let’s see!” With that he yanked open the drawer of his desk and pulled out Chris’s phone.
“Ugh,” said Chris, “it looks horrible!”
“Excellent,” said Dirk. “Look how beautiful it is!”
The phone had indeed mutated. The edges were ridged with what looked like little human leg or arm bones and there was a tiny bone skull at each corner. The rest of it was covered in some kind of yellowed ancient parchment—or more accurately, old and stretched skin … The front, where messages appeared, seemed to be wreathed in black shadow, like a kind of impenetrable darkness.
“So much for my phone,” said Chris.
“Indeed. Now it is truly a DarkPhone,” said Dirk, holding it in his hands and stroking it affectionately.
Chris looked on, slightly disgusted. “Anyway,” he said, “is it ready yet—you know, to call Sooz?”
“No, not yet; it is still charging. See,” he said, pointing to a tiny glass tube on one side of the phone. It looked like it was slowly filling up with blood. “We can send and receive here on earth, but it’ll only be able to call the Darklands when it is on full power.”
As if to underscore his words, glowing red runic letters appeared in the shadowy darkness of the phone’s screen. They formed the words “Incoming Call.”
And then the little skulls at the four corners began to sound off.
“Mwah, ha, ha. Mwah, ha, ha,” they went. Chris stared at the phone in horror. Dirk stared at it in delight. “Mwah, ha, ha,” went the phone, the villainous laughter getting louder and louder.
“Cool ring tone, don’t you think?” said Dirk. More words appeared on the dark screen. “Nutters,” it read.
“It’s for you,” said Dirk, handing the phone to Chris.
Pete Nutley was his real name. Of course, they all called him Nutters. Chris gazed at the phone in Dirk’s hand with horror.
Then the ring tone abruptly changed. In a deep, evil Dark Lord’s voice, the little skulls said, “Answer your phone or you will be destroyed! Answer it now, human, or die!”
Chris grabbed the phone. Gingerly, he pressed a little knob of bone and put the phone to his ear. And then gave a howl—little arms came out from below the four skulls and grabbed onto his ear, holding the phone in place.
“Hands free! See?” said Dirk happily.
Then a voice came out of the phone, thankfully quite a normal voice: “Hi, Chris, it’s Nutters, how’s it going?”
“Er … All right … Umm … Pete,” said a disturbed Chris.
“You okay? You never call me Pete,” said Nutters.
“Yeah, yeah, I am—it’s just … the phone grabbed my ear!” stuttered Chris.
“Look, can I call you back? But … not on this phone. In fact, don’t call me on this phone again, okay? Never again. NEVER!!!” howled Chris.
“Yeah, all right, all right, keep your shirt on,” said Nutters.
“I’ll get a new phone and call you then. Got to go, sorry, Nutters, sorry,” said Chris.
“Okay, okay. Later, Chris.”
With that, the call ended. The little arms holding the phone up to his ear retracted and the screen went as black as night once more. Chris handed it back to Dirk, who was staring at it with dark delight.
“Now that’s a phone,” said Dirk, putting it back in the drawer. “But for now, we must let it charge up further.”
“Sooner the better—I’m so worried about her!” said Chris.
“So am I, Christopher, so am I. But for now, there is nothing we can do. Anyway, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you. Have you met the nanny?”
“Nanny? What nanny?” said Chris.
“You haven’t been told about her then? That is odd,” said Dirk. “Very odd.”
“No, Mom never mentioned it or anything!” said Chris.
“Yes, well, it’s true. We have one now. Though I think more accurately, I have one,” said Dirk. “You know, because of my … umm … my superior intellect and abilities.”
“Your mental problems, you mean? Oh I see! Perhaps it isn’t a nanny so much as a psychiatric nurse, maybe?” said Chris without thinking.
“Mental problems! That’s typical of you humans, typical. You find someone with an intellect way beyond your own feeble capacities and what do you do? Honor them? Give them the respect they deserve? Put them in charge of bioweapons research or something useful like that? No, they label you insane and put you in a home with some kid called Christopher! Bah!”
Chris raised his eyes. “All right, Dirk, sorry, sorry. I don’t think you’re crazy, of course. But they do.”
Dirk seemed mollified by that. “Well, anyway,” he said, “she’s not a nurse or some kind of psychiatrist. I think she is far more dangerous. I think Hasdruban has sent her here to kill me!”
Chris chuckled at that. “Yeah, sure Dirk, the nanny is from another world and she’s trying to murder you. Riiiight.”
“Well, what about her name?” said Dirk.
“Her name? What is it—Annabel Lecter? No wait, something more obvious—Dark Lord Slayer? Dirk Killer? Mrs. Dirk-Lloyd-Must-Die?”
“No, it’s Dumpsy Deary. Miss Dumpsy Deary. What could be a more obvious giveaway than that?”